All the Things That Eyes Can Say
by MaireAilbhe
Summary: What if Tara had run into Spike first, en route to Willow's dorm during "Hush"? SPARA, in honor of my birthday and dedicated to 3hours! :)
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

**CHAPTER RATING:** T

**CHAPTER PAIRING:** Spike & Tara

**TIMELINE/SPOILERS:** Through BtVS Season 4's "Something Blue". (Story goes AU during "Hush".)

**DISCLAIMERS: **All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just making up for their cruel treatment of Spike and Tara!

**CHAPTER CREDITS:** This story is a re-write of "Hush," so scenes from that episode are referenced.

**CHAPTER NOTES:** I LOVE Spara fics. Sometimes they are pretty unbelievable, but the characters themselves are two that I think could have at least formed a very sweet and healthy friendship had Tara not been taken from us so suddenly. So, with that in mind, I present this little attempt at some mutual loving! I also made one major change with Spike in this story: it operates on the idea that immediately after "Something Blue" (instead of during "Hush"), Giles asked Xander to take Spike for a while; in my version, Xander reluctantly agreed, but, once away from the others, decided NOT to let Spike stay with him and forced him out on the street (in the hope that he would starve). So, as you read this story, just keep that in mind (so you aren't wondering why Spike is not tied up in Xander's basement).

* * *

_Laryngitis. _ You finally get an American to shut up, and it's called laryngitis. You get a group of them to shut up, and it's called an epidemic.

_Stupid gits._

Spike stood in the alley behind the hospital, his back to the wall. Tearing into a still-somewhat-warm packet of O-positive, he mentally shook his head at the commotion inside. The Fox News report on the waiting room telly had sensationalized the situation, as usual. Anything for ratings. _So you can't speak for a little while... so what? _ He hadn't needed to talk for a whole day now, and—who knows—maybe he wouldn't even need to speak for a week. Stupid, self-absorbed humans.

He gulped down the blood, trying to get his strength to return. The swill he'd had to survive on at the Watcher's hadn't done him any favors. Now that he was back on his own, he could get the good stuff—though, he lamented, not straight from the source as he'd have preferred. One of these days, he'd get this damn chip out of his head. For the time being, this was close enough.

When he was done with his dinner, he crumpled the bag up and tossed it to the ground. The sound it made as it scraped the asphalt was almost foreign. Even though this whole 'laryngitis epidemic' thing had to be a stupid hoax, Spike couldn't help but notice that the city had been abnormally quiet ever since he left the empty crypt he'd found yesterday. His ears picked up noises that he typically wouldn't have concentrated on, simply because there were no voices to muffle them. The sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. Pages of newspapers turning. Sniffles. Scuffing shoes on the pavement. The jingling of keys. Cigarettes being lit.

It was the latter that brought his attention back and got him moving again, looking for easy targets that wouldn't put up a fight. With the town so out-of-sorts, it was the perfect time to gather some supplies for his new hovel.

* * *

Tara could barely wait for the sun to rise. She left her dorm room and headed to the University Commons in the hope that she would find that girl who had started coming to the Wicca group. _Willow_, she remembered. There was something about her; Tara could _feel _it. The others in the group were annoyed at her suggestion that they actually try to do some magic, but that just proved to Tara that her suspicion was right: Willow was a witch like her. A powerful one, if the aura reading she'd done during that last meeting was anything to go by. Tara hoped that Willow would be willing to help her try to come up with a way to get everyone's voices back. She'd been up all night researching spells they could do. Whatever was going on in Sunnydale, it had a magic source. Tara could tell that, first and foremost. It was no epidemic of laryngitis, that was for sure.

She waited and wandered around campus, but never found Willow. Classes had been cancelled, so she guessed that she shouldn't have been surprised. But, nevertheless, Tara felt a twinge of sadness. She had searched for the girl yesterday, when it was discovered that no one could speak. The students on campus had been frantic then, panicking wordlessly. Today, everyone seemed resigned to their silent fates. Yet, with that resignation was also the apparent need to physically stay together. Tara figured it would be easy to find Willow today because all of the students were out of their rooms, trying to communicate as best as they could face-to-face. All of them except the redhead.

Tara sighed. Reluctantly, she slipped off to the campus library. Perhaps she'd see Willow there instead? If not, at least she'd have room to spread her books out and gather her thoughts together before locating a campus directory.

* * *

"_Brutal Slaying Shocks Silent Community"_

Spike sighed involuntarily. Some lucky bastard was having the time of his life right now, taking advantage of this strange situation. Spike wished it were him. Bloody brilliant idea to strike now while these idiots were silent. If only he hadn't had this damn chip...

He skimmed the newspaper for more details. Words like _stabbed_ and _heart missing _made his stomach growl. It just wasn't fair.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. At the risk of getting discovered again by Buffy or the Initiative, he was going back to the UC Sunnydale campus. Yeah, that's what he'd do. He'd find their underground laboratory if it took him all fucking night.

* * *

By late afternoon, Tara had returned to her room. There was no sign of Willow in the library, and the sound of people shuffling and dropping books without any conversation was making her uncomfortable. At least in her room she had music and incense and pillows and spell ingredients.

She had managed to come up with a handful of magical solutions, but more importantly, she had located Willow's room number. Gathering her books together, she headed out, feeling more nervously excited than she had in a long time.

* * *

In a way, the silence had been refreshing. But by this time, Spike wasn't sure he appreciated it anymore. The echoing sound of hundreds of heartbeats was not only unnerving but it was also making him ravenous. Each thump-thump was like a dinner bell at this point. He was happy that he had hit up the hospital again on his way to the college campus, and especially that he had taken more packets of blood than he knew he needed right now. Last night he'd found a tiny refrigerator to smuggle into his crypt, and earlier today he had figured out how to run a hidden extension cord to siphon electricity from somewhere. That meant he could stockpile all the blood he could swipe. Well, at least until it expired. But, he'd make sure that didn't happen.

Stopping his search momentarily, Spike flicked open his lighter and lit a cigarette. Nothing wrong with a little break. While he stood there, he could hear a movement quite a ways away that seemed to be approaching. An incredibly rapid heartbeat followed it. Along with the scent of fear. His lips curled into a slow-growing smile. He took another drag and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**CHAPTER RATING:** T

**CHAPTER PAIRING:** Spike & Tara

**TIMELINE/SPOILERS:** Through BtVS Season 4's "Something Blue". (Story goes AU during "Hush".)

**DISCLAIMERS: **All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just making up for their cruel treatment of Spike and Tara!

**CHAPTER CREDITS:** This story is a re-write of "Hush," so lines/scenes from that episode are referenced.

**CHAPTER NOTES:** Here we go with the life-changing meet-up! It's all AU from here, folks! :)

* * *

She was running for her life now. It began with her just being excited about sharing her spell notes with Willow, but what she found (or, more accurately, what found _her_) outside had her so horrified she could barely move quickly enough.

Tara scolded herself wordlessly for taking so long with her research. If only she had stopped with the first couple spell ideas. If only she had tried harder yesterday to find Willow. If only she had left earlier, while it was still light out. Then maybe there would be other students around to see this, to help her. _Stupid, stupid._

She gulped down a mouthful of breath and pressed on, clutching her books and notes tight, watching the ground beneath her to make sure she didn't stumble on the root-and-earthquake-affected sidewalk. Her long skirt flapped and snapped at her legs depending on how wide her strides were. And maybe the boots she chose were not optimal, but they had to be better than Birkenstocks. _Oh Goddess, run! Run!_

The monsters were behind her and somehow closing in. She couldn't hear the nightmare skeleton-like men since they merely hovered above the ground, soundless. But the rattling chains of the loping creeps who surrounded them were getting louder. Angrier.

_Faster, girl, faster!_

* * *

Although Spike could hear the clinking and scraping-on-the-pavement of chains, he knew it wasn't loose dogs. No, there was one distinct heartbeat. Female. Breath coming like she was at the height of ecstasy, and that made his jeans tighten a bit—but by the scent of fear bursting towards him, he knew that wasn't the case. Still, it was delicious: adrenaline and pheromones mixed with a sweet, spicy dose of Nag Champa. She was smothered in it, and he was reminded of a time when Dru had convinced him to take her to India for a sari shopping trip. The women wearing them had been such nummy treats. All pistachio and cardamom, chili and tamarind... He inhaled deeply and his grin widened even more.

Until he considered _why_ she'd be running in fear.

_Competition._

No. No way some exquisite morsel like this was going to fall victim to a lesser vampire! All right, so maybe he couldn't kill anymore. He'd...well... If _he_ couldn't have her, _no one_ would!

He peered towards the university buildings. She hadn't arrived close enough for him to see, but she was heading his way, definitely. Grinding out the remainder of his cigarette beneath his boot, Spike slipped towards the sound a bit, hoping to intercept the likely fledge. He'd show him what a _real_ vamp was like! _(Well, _kinda... _Damn this sodding chip!)_

But when the girl finally came into view, he stopped still.

Those were no fledges. What the _fuck...?_

The girl was frantically trying to get away, but she wasn't looking ahead. No, she was watching her footsteps, and she was headed straight for him, laden with heavy books.

"Pet! Watch out!" Spike yelled in warning. Only, no sound came from him.

He yelled again, panic rising as he realized that it wasn't just the stupid humans with this problem. _No! God no! _ He couldn't speak! But..._no_... he couldn't be without speech! Not _him_! How was he going to...

Tara barreled into Spike, knocking both herself and her books to the ground in a cluttered pile. When she finally looked up, she found the most striking pair of blue eyes she'd ever met. They were also scared. The guy had probably been chased by these icky things, too. Heck, he probably didn't even know about the vampire problem in Sunnydale. _Poor guy. _He looked like a foreign exchange student. Kinda European, with those chiseled cheeks...

_Girl, snap out of it!_

As if Spike could hear the same command, he blinked himself back to the present. He managed to gather himself together enough to hurriedly pull her books into a stack for her.

As she reached for them, gratefully, she took his hand. She was definitely not going to leave this poor lost guy out here. Willow would just have to have an extra visitor tonight.

But something like conflict flashed through those blue eyes.

Spike shot his gaze over at the monsters that were nearly upon them and then back at the girl who, _goddammit_, he couldn't have eaten even if he hadn't had the techie-leash. _Just look at those eyes, so trusting... _His heart panged for a quick moment. Angelus would have had a field day with this little one, for sure. This close, Spike could feel the white magic pouring off of her in waves as strong as that incense. _Bloody, buggering fuck._

Tara watched as the guy shook his head and made a strange gesture with his fingers that she didn't understand. He was wiggling them by his mouth.

Umm... _cavities?_ Why would she care if he had cavities? Bad breath? He needed his toothbrush? Or... Oh! He needed his retainer! She didn't know how to tell him that they didn't have time to go back to his dorm room. He'd just have to skip wearing it for a while.

"It's okay," she mouthed apologetically. "We've got to go _now_." Tara glanced back to see how much time they had left. The hovering men were still across the courtyard, but the creatures that looked like escaped mental patients were close enough to hurl themselves.

His reading of her lips and the tug on his hand told him that she must not have cared that he was a vamp. His mind said that she was either naive or stupid. But the look in her eyes told him it was neither. He held the gentle palm firmly against his and used what vamp abilities the Initiative _did_ leave him to get both of them the hell out of there.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**CHAPTER RATING:** T

**CHAPTER PAIRING:** Spike & Tara

**TIMELINE/SPOILERS:** Through BtVS Season 4's "Something Blue". (Story goes AU during "Hush".)

**DISCLAIMERS: **All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just making up for their cruel treatment of Spike and Tara!

**CHAPTER CREDITS:** I paraphrase the song "I Ran" by A Flock of Seagulls. And I also take some lines out of "Tabula Rasa". Heh.

**CHAPTER NOTES:** This is the one where she figures out what Spike really is.

* * *

He ran.

He ran so far away.

He ran. He ran all night and...

_Ugh. Just get her to safety, ya bastard!_

Spike had taken the girl's books when he thought they were weighing her down. Then he had tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her with him. At first, he had tried to lose the monsters. But after a bit of it, three things had become apparent: first, that those creeps were everywhere; second, that they seemed to have specific targets; and third, that this girl was getting exhausted. He had changed course then, leading her to where he thought she'd have a genuine chance of being safe: his newly-obtained crypt. He'd hazarded a guess that these floating nightmares were responsible for all of those recent crimes he'd jealousy read about, and, if so, they'd be unlikely to search for victims in the cemeteries.

He hoped now that this change of scenery wouldn't put the frightened girl off too much. Though, he reasoned, she'd already accepted help after he had indicated he was a vampire. This was not something he'd had experience with, he had to admit. But, there was no time for that now. Squeezing her hand reassuringly, Spike led her further south towards Restfield Cemetery.

* * *

Tara was slowly starting to think that this guy _wasn't_ a foreign exchange student. No, he was much more familiar with Sunnydale than even she was. At first, she had thought that he would just find them a quiet hiding place somewhere on campus, which made her concerned that they'd have to keep relocating, keep putting themselves in danger. But, instead, he'd woven an uneven weft down alleys and through small parks, apparently to throw the monsters off their trail. Then something must have given him an idea, because he had pulled her closer and led her on a more straightforward path. He knew where he was going, without hesitation.

When she had looked up into his eyes, he had squeezed her hand in reassurance.

Where they ended up, however, was both farther and stranger than she had expected. _Restfield Cemetery_. There were more of those creepy guys in this part of town as well, but they didn't seem to follow the two of them past the gates. Her blue-eyed hero hadn't stopped there, though. Instead, he had quickly ushered her into a crypt, shoving the solid door closed behind them.

They both peered out of the dusty, leaded glass windows, searching for signs of the ghouls. Although Tara didn't see any, she gestured to a heavy bar which her companion understood to be a sort of latch. When he lowered it, sealing them inside, she slumped to the floor in relief.

Panting to catch her breath, she glanced around the space. Despite being someone's final resting place, it had the touches of being lived-in: a heavy blanket on the sarcophagus, books on an upturned box, well-used candles, even a little dorm-sized fridge that appeared to be plugged in to an extension cord from somewhere.

He was living here.

This poor guy wasn't an exchange student; he was a gutter punk. And here he was with nothing, offering it to her anyway. Her heart swelled a little, compassion swallowing down the bit of her rational mind that reminded her of what happened to girls who ran off with strange men.

While he was sorting her books for her on the stone slab before them, she read his aura. _Just to ease my mind,_ she said to herself in justification. What she saw mirrored the messages his eyes had held. His aura was mostly shades of red—the clear red of power and competitiveness, mottled with the dark red that signaled he was survival-oriented and had a strong will. He'd keep her safe, of that she now had no doubt. But indigo also burst through his aura from quite the depths. And that made her understand why she stuck with him without even really knowing who he was. Her own aura was filled with that color as well—the color of intuition, of sensitivity and deep feeling. Already, they had been able to work together, to trust each other; being homeless, she imagined he wasn't all that trusting of a person, seeing as how other people could be so cruel and violent. And, the final color in his aura—black—proved that to her. He had been hurt in his past, had long-term unforgiveness, whether towards others or himself, she didn't know. It flickered around him, almost as if it was guarding him.

"Are you okay?" he mouthed to her when he had all of her stuff together. His face had softened, and he peered at her with what looked like genuine concern.

Tara nodded in response, pointing to one of her notebooks. After a moment or two of charades, he brought her one and a writing instrument.

"I'm Tara," she wrote. "What's your name?"

He crouched down to look at her message. "Spike," he replied in a practiced script. His handwriting was elegant, not at all what she expected from someone that reminded her of Billy Idol.

Her eyes caught his again, and she studied the stormy colors that flickered across them.

* * *

"Sorry it's not much to look at," Spike wrote. "Just moved in."

He reached down then and pulled out a cigarette. The way she looked at him just now made him almost ashamed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that way. Well, outside of that awful experience recently being engaged to the Slayer. _Bloody incompetent witch._ This one, Tara, looked at him with such hope or trust that he almost couldn't bear it. _Don't see me like that,_ he scolded her in his head. _I'm worse than any man you'll ever meet._

Spike closed his eyes, taking a deep drag. After a moment, he glanced back down at the notebook. She had written "No, its perfect. We should be safe here."

A sigh rested within his throat. "Suppose we never get our voices back?" he scratched out.

He sensed her hand dared to touch him once she read his question, asked rhetorically. What he didn't know was that her aura reading had already seen the pain hidden in the answer; she knew something more was going on behind those glossy eyes.

"That's what my books are for. I've got some ideas." She held the notebook out to him with a light, crooked smile on her face. "We'll figure it out, I promise."

The tension slipped a bit from his face as she continued to tug at his heart. What was wrong with him? The chip hadn't completely neutered him, had it? Was this another of Red's spells-gone-wrong?

He forced himself up then and headed to the refrigerator.

* * *

She sensed his worry as he moved to the fridge. It tugged at her heart. She'd find a way to make this right. Flipping through the marked pages of her books with one hand, she felt in her pocket with the other. Hopefully Spike had a bowl or a cup in here that she could use to mix the ingredients she managed to bring with her. She had expected to meet up at Willow's room, so it hadn't even occurred to her that she'd need something to burn some of these herbs; but she saw that Spike had a working lighter, so that took care of that. She wondered idly if Willow was working on a spell to fix this problem. A smile rose to her lips as she excitedly thought they might have come up with the same things. And, if so, how cool would it be if both of them were doing their spells at the same time? Not only that, but how strong that spell would be!

Tara looked up then, renewed vigor at her task. She caught Spike out of the corner of her eye, pulling packets of something from his jacket pockets to put in the fridge. They looked kinda like CapriSun juice packets. She hoped, selfishly, that he'd offer her one until she realized—_really realized_—what they were. What _he_ was.

Oh. _So _that's _what he was trying to tell me._

She couldn't stop watching him now. He had torn through the last packet of blood he'd pulled out with his fangs—quite silently, she had to admit. His eyes were closed, but the tell-tale vampire ridges were there on his forehead. He hadn't gone all _grrr argh_ with it. Or on her. In fact, he'd had at least a hundred opportunities now to make a meal out of her, and he hadn't taken one. Instead, he put himself in harm's way for her. Was feeding from _donated_ blood.

The scenarios began to grow in her head, fueled by her aura reading of him. The pain of having been turned, having been forced out of his life into one of eternal undeath. The remorse of having to survive by killing. Never being able to enjoy all the wonderful things we take for granted during the day. Being so alone, so isolated. Living in fear of being hunted, of being thought of as a monster... Especially for someone so passionate and sensitive.

And here he was, trying to do right. Surviving on so little, taking in nourishment like a beggar, passively, trying not to harm anyone even while forced into a predicament where blood was the only thing he could have as sustenance.

Oh, it broke her heart, this noble vampire! A good guy. On a mission of redemption. He helps the hopeless. _Or the helpless, like me today._ He's like...a vampire with a soul!


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**CHAPTER RATING:** T

**CHAPTER PAIRING:** Spike & Tara

**TIMELINE/SPOILERS:** Through BtVS Season 4's "Something Blue". (Story goes AU during "Hush".)

**DISCLAIMERS: **All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just making up for their cruel treatment of Spike and Tara!

**CHAPTER CREDITS:** n/a

**CHAPTER NOTES:** Sorry for the delay with this one. So much schoolwork now that I'm nearing the end of a semester. Also, I'm sorry that the action is slow-going. I don't think it's believable to have them rutting away already, considering I do think that Tara is a lesbian (and not just bisexual). So, I'm treating this with a bit of reserve. I hope that I can make the journey to that final pay-off just as enjoyable for you, though!

* * *

_This'll have to do_, Spike thought as he reached for a couple bottles of beer.

When he turned around, he found himself the object of a painfully tender and teary gaze.

_What on earth...? _Spike tilted his head gently to the side, arching an eyebrow ever-so-slightly.

"Luv?" he mouthed, forgetting that he couldn't speak.

_Oh God, is she crying?_

Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused from the pool of tears building up. And if there was one thing Spike couldn't handle, it was a crying woman. It just figured that, despite all the incredible changes becoming a vampire had caused within him, he'd never lost poncy William's heart.

Spike looked skyward and sighed. _What more can you do to me, you bastard?_

"You're safe here," he mouthed to the girl. "I won't hurt you..."

And he wanted to add _you don't know the _half_ of it—got the bloody Slayer breathin' down my neck with stakes and crossbow at the ready if I even _look_ like I'm thinkin' 'bout it. Hell even her motley crew of social rejects has a leg up on me. I really _am_ a piece of work._

Before he could start wallowing some more, he nudged a cold beer towards her. The apologetic look on his face could have told her: sorry this was all I had; sorry you're stuck in here with me; sorry you ended up in Sunnyhell. All were true, or as true as could be for a soulless demon with a human heart.

* * *

Tara watched him a moment or two more, her eyes unblinking as her mind continued composing his tragically noble history. It wasn't until the bottle touched the side of her hand that she woke from her stupor.

He looked so sorry just then, and the tears that had threatened to fall moments before finally did. It was only a few—just what had been pooled there in her eyes while she thought about his poor state of affairs—but he saw it and shook his head, mouthed _"don't cry, please don't cry"_. His hand even dared to reach out to her until she wiped at her face and gave him an awkward smile.

"Sorry," she scribbled quickly for him. "Allergies."

Spike relaxed a bit at that. Not being able to talk was proving more difficult than he had anticipated. He was trying to compensate by reading her body language and sniffing the various chemical changes going through her, but it obviously was not enough. Back to the notebook, then.

He raised his beer bottle to her before taking a swig. Tara followed suit, though with a more reserved sip; she wasn't a drinker, but she also didn't want to be rude. The slight warmth of the alcohol did help a little, though. Ten minutes later, any tension that had been in the crypt had been replaced by the silent effort of research.

The books were spread out before them on the sarcophagus, and Tara was writing out what looked like a spell. Spike was fairly impressed at how quickly the girl wrote in Latin. His own youth had been spent with the language, but even what he knew by rote hadn't ever come that easily. Tara moved from one book to the next and back again.

When he had first seen her load, he had been sure she was another Red. Little girl finally on her own, feeling all "empowered" by her Ani DiFranco albums and armed with a spice rack. He already knew the kind of trouble that caused. Still had the nasty taste of Slayer kisses in his mouth to prove it. Hell, he wasn't entirely convinced that this whole silence thing _hadn't_ been Red's fault to begin with. Surely, she was involved. Why else would he be feeling so tender toward this unknown girl here who would normally be no more than a happy meal on legs? But the white magic that had rolled off of her was too strong, too _ancient_. This Tara was no amateur, no Red.

So, Spike put up no protest when she began pulling out herbs. He tamped down his knee-jerk reaction—nervousness—and watched her work. In concentration, her forehead got these little ridges. They were tiny wrinkles like the ones starting to show by Joyce's eyes. Or the ones on the Watcher's neck. _Bloody hell_, he was spending too much time with those damn white hats. He was the Slayer of Slayers, for fuck's sake!

Tara must have sensed his frustration because she looked up then, her eyes glittering with suggestion. When they connected with his, she scribbled out some instructions for setting up the area to start a spell. He could handle that; he could be useful. Nothing worse than being helpless. _Well, maybe being Angel_, he snarked inwardly as he gathered makeshift bowls.

While Spike was moving about, Tara prepared the ingredients. She had to improvise a bit since she had expected to combine her stash with Willow's. But that was okay. Tara was nothing if not resourceful. Surely, this night was a test of that!

Soon, the crypt was filled with an earthy smoke. Everything was going to plan. Spike watched on intently, caught up in her confidence. Tara pulled her notebook close to her and then...stopped. _Good one, dummy._ How was she supposed to utter the spell if she couldn't speak?

Those little lines appeared on her forehead again. Spike saw them rise. What happened? What was she waiting for? Then it occurred to him—how was she supposed to utter the spell if she couldn't speak?

Suddenly, her forehead smoothed and she smiled at him. "I've got another idea," she mouthed.

As best as she could, Tara moved her books and the smoking herbs to the side. When Spike saw what she was planning, he helped her up onto the stone surface.

She sat down in the lotus position, taking a deep breath. _Okay, center. You can do this. He's got the place secured._ Another deep breath, and she closed her eyes. She'd recite the spell in her mind and project it out. She'd only done the whole telepathy thing a couple times before, but what she lacked in experience she made up for in determination. Over and over, she chanted the spell in her head. It was one she had composed herself, so she knew there were no guarantees it would work. But it was purely a healing spell, so even if it didn't solve this particular problem, it might still help those out there with sore throats or tonsillitis. So, yeah, there was that.

The energy in the room changed as Tara meditated. Spike could not only feel it, but _see_ it. Her long hair rustled even though no breeze could penetrate the crypt. Smoke from the sage and peppermint wound around her in thick coils. The steady thump of her heartbeat put him in a trance, as did the swell of her breasts when she breathed. He watched them rise and fall, rise and fall, mesmerized.

Until the shrill sound of a coyote or—_no_—a fox shattered the stillness. Tara's concentration broke, and the coiled smoke dissipated.

They frowned at each other. _Dammit._

Tara's shoulders slumped a bit from the wasted effort. She didn't know what else to do now, but she was exhausted. That spell took a lot more out of her than she had anticipated.

"Sorry, luv; you tried your best."

Spike's voice echoed in the nearly-empty space. All four eyes widened. The sound was booming, vibrant, clear—as if they had been deaf, too, and forgot what it was like to hear.

"You..."

"I really..."

He rushed to her, pulling her into his arms joyfully like a long-awaited homecoming. And she let him easily, equal parts relieved and excited that the spell had worked.

Their embrace was short-lived and apologetic as the awkwardness of the situation creeped in, but even in just those moments both had their senses imprinted upon: for her, the strong, ropey muscles of a powerful, protective predator and the masculine scent of leather, cigarettes, alcohol, and something else she couldn't place; for him, the heat—oh, the flush of skin pulsing with hot blood—and the softness that a body like Harmony's should have had but didn't. They broke away before they could figure out what that all meant. But, both knew that this night meant _something._


End file.
